Love Me Two Times
by FreedomOftheSeas
Summary: Written for a challenge on the Broken Compass Forum. Jack Sparrow and his equally roguish father, Teague, bed the same wench. NC17 material for obvious reasons, along with FemmeSlash.


**A/N: **This is written as a response to a Broken Compass forum challenge against my good friend and formidable opponent, Mrs. TinaMarina –funfunfun. It was a pleasure taking on this challenge with you, love!

**The challenge was**: Jack Sparrow and his equally roguish father both bed the same wench. Said wench must be an OC.

**Warning**: This is not my first time writing smut. Please be prepared for Fem Slash, and full on sexual intercourse. It's smut after all!

---

_**Love Me Two Times**_

---

The door closed behind five boatmen leaving the _Faithful Bride_ taproom and the cutting-off of their boisterous talk left a silence in the room, broken only by the quiet hiss and crackle of the logs in the fireplace. The tavern was on the outer edge of the harbor, a two-storied wooden house where the noise and the dubious smells of an overfilled taproom downstairs could have been heard from the next town over, while the upstairs windows were usually dark and shaded by thick curtains. Candles burning on the new mantel shelf, on the bar, and along the worn tables gave enough warm light to push the shadows back into the corners of the room.

Just then, four men with pots of ale before them were seated on stools around the end of the bar. With them around the fire were two travelers of a "rougher lot," who tied up there for the evening, but had all intentions of leaving at dawn.

The two travelers laughed at the grand politics of England, which was now amidst building an "essential" system of roads for travel, and neglecting the sea that constituted the very foundation of its prosperity and greatness.

A little later, the two of them were pushing their way along the walls of the taproom, avoiding flying jugs and staggering men, ducking as an empty keg crashed against the wall over them. They did their best to escape the blows, kicks, and fists of fighting pirates. They were all pirates at sea, but highwaymen on the roads, no. It was all relative to how much "honest" profit was to be made.

However, profit made was equal to profit spent, for the travelers seemed to always have plenty of money, and loved to spend it at the tavern, in the taproom or above it in one of the rooms. Their spending was not careless. Nay, they spent with a lavishness that caused all the inhabitants to wonder and gossip.

It would not be long until the name '_Teague_' danced along the painted lips of most of the barmaids that were employed long enough to see him come and go over the years. Soon, the men of the tavern grew silent as he walked through the crowd, moving out of his way to let him pass. Now, those whispers would quickly be followed by '_his son' _and after taking their leave, their names would certainly be synonymous with the word '_profit_.'

Their intentions of leaving the very next morning grew even more unlikely as the hours wore on, because Teague found himself a young, but pretty lass before twilight.

Jack couldn't remember her name for the life of him.

_Harriet_? He wondered, twitching his nose at the brutish name. Evidently, it seemed that their visit _would _be extended another day and perhaps another night, if the opportunity happened to strike, and Jack was sure that it would.

Teague reached to take up another full measure of rum from the counter, and then glanced at the woman blankly. She played her part well, lowering her chin and licking her lips lustfully.

Pretty little 'Harriet' rose from her position upon Teague's lap when she felt satisfied enough with the negotiated payment. She beckoned him down the hall to a set of stairs leading up to the second floor, and knocked on the third closed door. When there was no answer, she opened it and disappeared behind it with Teague before anyone could have given them a second look.

The wench's lantern cast strange swinging shadows upon the walls of the room, and there was no sound save the pounding of his boots on the wood floor and the much softer slap of Harriet's bare feet. She didn't even hear the door close behind her. The wooden floor was cold, and Harriet was trembling both with cold and fear, but they continued on toward the bed.

The room was lit by several candelabra on the side tables, and an immense bed with tall, carved posts was at the center of the room. Upon the bed, were not just simple linens, but another woman - a naked woman, with wavy raven hair and a heart-shaped face. She sat in the middle of the bed with her legs curled beneath her, regarding them with a smile.

"You're just as lovely as the lass promised me." He extended his arm to Harriet. "Come."

Harriet climbed up on the bed, and went within arm's reach of the other woman, allowing her to catch her around the neck with her free arm and pull her in. Suddenly, Harriet's mouth was on hers, and there was no hesitation on the other woman's end.

It was obvious that Harriet had never kissed another woman before and the softness of it shocked her. She drew back for a moment, casting her eyes down to the raven-haired woman's full, round breasts and all at once, she secretly ached for them. The woman scrambled to get Harriet out of her dress, casting it aside and reaching her arms around the shy girl. Upon contact, Harriet's breasts sank into the fullness of the other woman's breasts, and the feeling was quite strange, but pleasant.

Harriet listened to the woman's deep moans, until she shifted her position, lying down on the bed to offer the woman free range of her body. The pleasure that came next was so intense that for an instant the room almost disappeared, but when the room returned to her, Harriet identified the exquisite feeling as the woman's tongue, moving expertly over the soft petals between her legs.

A wonderful whirlwind of hunger and ecstasy tore at Harriet's mind as the woman grasped her thighs. Every caress between her legs brought on pleasure so intense that it seemed to echo in every part of Harriet's body.

Harriet closed her eyes and tried to focus, but then she opened them again to see the woman staring at her. Her soft hair, deep eyes, and full lips made the sensation twice as confusing, so Harriet stared back, lost in her eyes.

A hand drew back Harriet's unpinned hair from her shoulder, and tucked it behind her ear.

"What are you doing?" Harriet whispered.

"Seein' if I can outdo your friend here," he replied roughly, feeling Harriet quake in his arms.

She expected at any moment to feel his hands upon her breasts, or perhaps he'd attack her cunt first, which Harriet feared was already overly moistened for him. However, he simply pulled his arm securely around her waist, lifting her from the bed so that her back met his chest, and cupped the side of her head with his right hand. Teague's other hand traced over her breasts and continued on down for her skirts. He worked the fabric up as he kissed the back of her neck. His fingers traced slowly up the inside of her thigh and her loins clenched in response.

Harriet's brain struggled to recall what was at stake. She vaguely remembered her mind's conflict concerning her profession. Yes, she was in a most dubious line of work, but was she supposed to resist the power of physical pleasure and actually want it? Well, so far she was clearly losing the battle. She did not wish to deny him, and the thought of pleasing him was invigorating.

Half an hour drew on within the candlelit room, and at one point, she opened her eyes to find them over her, that maddeningly gorgeous woman suckling her breasts and the roguish stranger plunging deep inside of her. The reality that _he_ was inside her made her inner walls shimmer, throb, and seize up.

When Teague came, he groaned, and moved her even faster, gasping and panting until finally collapsing upon her. Harriet went limp like a puppet, and Teague slid them both off the bed to the floor, where he lay on his back between them.

He turned to Harriet for a moment, studying her as she panted. "Your eyes are so blue," he mused, running his coarse thumb along the thin hairs of her eyebrow. "Blue like the sea, changin' with the wind."

"I've never felt the wind or see the sea, Sir," she whispered, lying motionlessly.

Teague narrowed his brow, tracing around her chin with his finger. "Then what do you feel, lass?"

"I don't feel very much o' anythin' anymore, Sir."

She understood no more now than she had before, and that was the worst thing about it. Harriet felt another wave of confusion wash over her, threatening to bring on a bout of crying, but she held it in.

It was best not to alarm her customer.

---

Teague chose not to speak of Harriet when he returned to the taproom the next morning, deciding that it was best not to linger on such thoughts, for he often found his mind returning to the days where he once had a fine-looking woman to himself, and needed no one but her to please him.

His son's eyes were questioning, awaiting the story of his father's grandiose conquest, but nothing of the sort ever came.

"Now, before you start arguin' with me, allow me to be frank. I'm not one of those prudes who think that emotion has to accompany sex. Heaven forbid. Sure, the idea's nice, and there's a little bit of the hopeful romantic in me that hoped it was true. Give me a good-lookin' wench and a few hits of opium and I'm bound to stumble upon damn near anything. Then, I might write a song about it. Moral is, you can't treat a woman like that, Jackie. Sure, sex pays the rent for their rooms and makes for good inspiration. Sometimes you think that you're practically doing _them_ a favor, if you ask me. Great sex doesn't have to make sense either, mark that well, boy."

Jack laughed to himself, casually crossing one of his legs atop of the other as he leaned back to join his father near the hearth. "I'm not in the market for doing anyone favors. And Christ, Da, you smell like you've spent the evening with the cheapest of tarts," Jack said, holding a hand to his nose as Teague leaned over the table to retrieve his rum.

"Perhaps I have," he said smugly, momentarily lifting his arm to take a whiff of his spicy order, trying not to cringe. The boy didn't look a day older than nineteen, but his wit was far more established than he let on. "Or perhaps I have not, but that is of no great importance, since it doesn't have to make sense, now does it?"

Jack shrugged. "To your great regret, my standards are not lax, for I'm in no mood for teaching. Unlike you, I spent my evening with someone a bit more knowledgeable."

The stubborn and impatient lad that he was – that came as no surprise.

Within weeks, Jack Sparrow had become well established among his old friends and acquaintances, though upon a different footing from that of just five months before, for it was a very different Jack that came back to them as a result of the Royal Navy. Nevertheless, he was well-liked in the taproom of the tavern and _very_ well-liked by the various women that inhabited it; he was _always_ in the center of a group of loungers and _always_ the subject of conversation. If his reputation was a crop in a plantation, it could have been harvested before the end of the season. All he needed was single moment – a smile, a casual bite of his lip paired with a grand tale of endless hyperbole, and then in his eyes, his status would last for another thousand years.

Though, Jack was no different from his father, for his forty years seemed to have been crowded full of adventures and happenings by land and by sea. Given an appreciative audience, he would reel off his yarns by the hour in a reckless, devil-may-care fashion that set agape even old dogs that had sailed the western ocean since boyhood.

"Well, I hope she was good, because it smells like she took a piss on you as well. We'll surely die of this sort of company, boy," Teague said, gesturing toward a golden haired woman the other end of the taproom. "Now, there's the company that we should be seekin'."

Jack wrinkled his nose. "Who's that?"

"Emily," Teague answered simply.

"Emily? Not your usual young harlot or daughter of English-born royalty, aye? Good to see you're branching out a bit," he said, snickering at the idea of his father trying to woo such a woman. It didn't help that she was not _royal_ in any sense of the word. Nevertheless, he stole a glance at her, noticing that she was flanked by drunken scoundrels, waiting for her to surrender herself, and stifle her will and her feelings to deliver her body to brutality and suffering, and her soul to contempt.

Judging by her appearance, she was nothing more than a simple woman. Simple hair, simple dress, and from what he could tell – simply plain endowments. Though he could not get a good look at her, for the men were moving in and out of the bar area, drinking, conversing, professing like hungry dogs, and women were the food, of course.

"Her mother was a good woman, had her educated a bit before things turned for the worst. You see, Jackie, these women are groomed, bathed and tended to, and when they no longer meet the expectations of their masters they are cut away," Teague explained. "Emily's smart as a whip. Bright, clever, alert…"

For a time, Jack supposed that Emily didn't give half a care to the incomprehensible mystery of her work. Confronting death was nothing, but what a death faced the common Tortuga prostitute! She would be betrothed to sorrow, and doomed to degradation by repeated physical tortures.

Teague nudged Jack's shoulder casually with a bottle of rum, and brought him back into their conversation.

"…neither of us wanted to talk anymore," Teague said. Clearly Jack had missed a good portion of the story while he was observing Emily.

"It was clear that she wanted to dance, and Emily was the kind of partner I'd longed for since your mum left me. She was a really good dancer, but not a showoff about it. Not only that, but she clearly understood that there had to be a limited range, that all the exuberance in the world could happen in that range. I hadn't been involved with anyone else, and I had to understand that I was givin' in after a time of not havin' a woman, for she surely understood the danger of havin' a pirate," he said, letting out a small sigh.

"She was almost afraid to meet my eyes. Clearly, what we were doing was so much about sex, such a pantomime of sex that I couldn't begin to pretend it was anythin' different. I don't know what you'd call what we were doin', not exactly dancin', but not exactly sex, just another world. It looked like she just wanted to let everythin' go when she looked at me. Her lips were full - a bit reddish to my eyes, and her smile," Teague laughed, rubbing his chin for a moment. "Well, for its own sake, it was a highly suspicious."

Jack waited for a moment, but grew frustrated when his father didn't finish. "Well? Is that all? For someone who talks a whole lot about properly bedding a wench, doesn't seem like you've done anything properly."

"You're too wide of the mark, Jackie. When you get right down to it, any ardent touching is sex. To a woman, plainly stroking her body can be just as gratifying as anything you can do with your prick, if not more so."

"Mind you, she does _not_ appear to be one of those prudish young ladies we're discussing."

"Doesn't mean they wouldn't like to be treated in such a way," Teague replied. "Just like those _daughters of English-born royalty_."

"Ah, so they'll kick and fuss and think of me as a prat while you sit here, laughing as you smoke yourself to oblivion," he said defiantly, peering over at Emily again. "That's exactly what you're looking for, isn't it?"

She finally turned enough to glance in Jack's direction. The magnetism of her eyes affected him powerfully enough that the separation of their bodies could not destroy it, and then she disappeared behind the crowd, but carried his gaze with her.

The potential client always signaled his interest, and after many years of experience she could pick up those gestures quite easily.

Many an evening there might have been a dozen of them in the taproom, all rugged and weathered from the sea, cheeks ruddy from ale and the fire in the great hearth.

It was late in the evening, and the men had now formed a makeshift circle, bidding for the company of Emily and other various wenches alike. They tossed Emily back and forth between one another like a sullied rag doll, and for a moment, she looked as if she were about to lose her mind and begin to sob. Her efforts to defend herself were futile until a pair of strong arms grabbed her from the within the circle.

"Be composed and at ease with me, M'lady," Jack whispered in her ear, before turning to address the crowd of disgruntled buccaneers. "Barkeep, a round of ale for these fine gentlemen, if you will."

"An' 'ow do ya intend on payin' fer all that, lad?" the barkeep asked, cleaning off a number of glasses.

Jack leaned in, dropping his voice to a hoarse whisper. "Captain Teague will be more than obliged to take care of the expenses, my friend," he replied with a smile, nodding in Teague's direction.

"_Captain Teague_? Pay fo' all this?" the barkeep asked skeptically. "That don't sound righ'…"

"You're absolutely right. It doesn't sound probable a'tall," Jack said. "In fact, a gentleman such as he, would pay for two rounds rather than one."

The barkeep nodded, seeming satisfied with the extra profit, and as the bidding men became easily distracted by the notion of complimentary drinks, Jack took to his business.

"I'll appoint you with an appointment, and be sure make preparation for when you meet me outside these premises," he said, turning to Emily.

The woman was still visibly shaken from the dizzying effects of the circle, and rightfully so. "When?" she breathed, attempting to regain her composure.

"Now."

Emily kept her eyes on him. "So, it is your habit to save women from payin' customers?"

"I do strike unannounced," he said, trying to make light of the situation. "Surely you are afraid of me?"

"And what reason would I have to fear you, Sir?" she replied coolly.

"You should be afraid. Don't you know who I am? I'm widely feared, and I just assumed others would have given you reasons," he said with a flick of his wrist.

"I prefer to seek my own counsel. Thanks." It took all of Emily's self-control to speak to the young pirate in such a calm manner, even if the look in his eyes truly alarmed her. She could tell from his demeanor that he was accustomed to striking fear in women and men alike, and having his way in all things.

He looked down at her with a faint smirk about his lips, and yet, he was not exactly arrogant – his boldness was very well earned.

Jack turned his face away from her and disappeared through the crowd again, and she could not help but be curious enough to follow.

Emily slipped quickly through the crowd of men before anyone could catch more than a fleeting look at her. It was good of the young pirate to be concerned about her, but she'd been in worse cutthroats' dens than this one. On occasion, she knew how to avoid the drunks and to defend herself if necessary.

Not even the barkeep or any of the barmaids paid any attention to her. Rum, gin, and mead were flowing in streams as moist heat filled the room, and the fumes of countless pipes limited the view to the tavern doorway.

"You know, love, you're one of the strongest women I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. In fact, I've seen few men strong enough to fight off those men for so long," he said, stopping her abruptly outside the tavern. "Nevertheless, you're a terrible liar."

"A liar?" she replied, rather taken back by his allegation. "How dare-"

He countered her confusion with a wicked smile, while placing a finger upon her lips. "You were lying when you said that you feel no fear of me."

To accuse a woman of lying was a punishable crime in some countries. _The nerve of that impertinent scallywag! _

However, Emily thought not of that, but rather the fact that Jack was right, and she felt compelled to admit it, but it was against her better judgment. Instead, she stood tongue-tied, with the young man pinning her under his formidable gaze.

At last he broke the silence with a smile and a quiet laugh. "But you are as entitled to your own secrets as I am, darling. Can't rob you of that," he said.

Before she could even think, the young pirate took up her hand in his rough one, and bent his head and kissed it. Emily felt his lips, and the tip of his nose brushed her skin softly. He left a moist spot on her skin before he released her hand, and backed away with a bow.

"Jack Sparrow, at your service, M'lady."

Emily recovered enough to pull her arm free of his. In an even tone she said to him, "Your technique for wooin' a woman is interestin', Mr. Sparrow."

For a moment, he allowed her to remain free and clasped his hands behind his back. "I'll speak plainly to you, because you seem to be a woman who would appreciate plain speech," he said. "I cannot woo. I am a villain, a brigand, and a rogue, and my reputation always precedes me."

"You flatter me and threaten me by turns," she replied.

He looked at her, cocking his head. "Do I threaten you, then?"

Emily realized at once that her accusation had been unfair, and also too revealing. "Not in so many words, but I'm not accustomed to…"

"No, no … you are quite perceptive, as I suspected. I do threaten you, if my actions may be considered a threat, then I won't deny it."

She began to tremble so hard that she was certain it was visible. "What are you sayin'?"

"Shush," he hissed, grabbing a hold of her arm once more.

Just then, a loud crash echoed through the inner walls of the taproom, followed by a very loud familiar voice.

"Where'd he go? I'll shoot his bloody prick off!"

Emily raised a speculative brow and smiled. "It sounds like someone's lookin' for you."

"All the more incentive to run now, aye? Come with me," he whispered desperately, pulling her along as they ran through a world of dark, strange, and mysterious alleyways, far from the moonlight, and the strange cavernous buildings that were too dark to fully see.

---

"You are mad to do this!" Emily exclaimed to her captor in her coldest voice.

Jack was busy binding her hands and feet, but he was using a delicate rope so it would not be overly rough, and she noted bitterly that he did seem to be making an effort not to do the knots too tightly.

"I'm glad you've held to your claim of having no fear of me," he whispered slyly. "It serves no purpose of mind that you think me terrible."

"I do think that you're terrible!" she spat.

She was seated on the hard cold floor of what seemed to be an abandoned chapel. They had not run a great distance from the tavern. It was late evening, but the moon still illuminated the stained glass windows, reflecting the scenes of the life of the Blessed Virgin in vivid shades of blue, gold, and red upon the chapel's wooden floors.

"Good, but you must know why I've brought you here. It frightens you, but exhilarates you as well, so it seems."

Under the circumstances, Emily would have found him striking. He was a handsome man indeed, despite the forbidding aspect. He had a strong brow, a fine chin and piercing brown eyes. His hair was worn to make him look the part of a warrior, and it was very becoming.

The scar that trickled down his left forearm was not the only one; there was another on his right arm, covered by a fragile piece of thin fabric. He looked at her from behind his rich black, wavy hair, and the candlelight seemed to get caught in his familiar dark eyes, warming his already sun-kissed complexion to a rich bronze.

Jack sat beside her, cross-legged on the floor. "I won't ask for forgiveness when none can be forthcoming," he said chuckling. "Let me know if you're in any discomfort. However, if you plan on flogging me upon release, I'll not handle you with such care the second time around."

"So, I expect that after you've taken me without payment and '_saved_' me from the others, you plan to force yourself on me?"

Jack made no effort to hide his surprise. "I had no specific intentions on using force, if that's what you mean."

"Then rape is not in your plan?" she asked sarcastically.

Jack lowered his chin and gave her a dark look. "Do you wish it to be?"

"Why would I wish it to be? Do you think I like the kind of man you are?"

"Clearly you don't," he said calmly. "However, you've evaded my question, which causes me to think otherwise."

"Tell me, what would make you think anythin' of that manner?"

Jack bit his lip and leaned over. Emily drew back, but could not fully escape. His hand clamped tight at the side of her waist and he pulled her to him; she could smell the rum on his breath. Then she noticed her chest was heaving and deliberately slowed it. She wouldn't have him thinking anything he did could have excited her, but that pinch at her waist … somewhere in the back of her mind she recognized that it felt good.

Jack released her and sat back down. She feared she saw smug satisfaction in his countenance. "A drink?" he said pleasantly, taking up a loose floorboard from the chapel floor.

"Is this where you take all your women?" she asked, watching as Jack untied the silk binding on her wrists.

A crooked smile danced across his lips. "Tell me, what would make you think anything of that manner?" he mimicked, handing her a bottle.

They spoke little while they drank, and for the most part, Emily stared down the aisle of the abandoned chapel and tried not to think very much. The sweet scent of rum came as a comfort to Emily, and she considered drinking herself to oblivion and did not reject the idea. She brought the bottle to her lips and drank a quarter of its contents down in a series of gulps. Then she lowered it to her lap and look at Jack with a steady gaze as she handed him back the bottle.

He had watched it all, and responded by raising one eyebrow, then silently held the bottle up to her in tribute, and took a deep drink himself.

She was definitely feeling the effects of the rum now, and started to regret her rash decision to indulge so, for she found herself looking at the young pirate while he was preoccupied, and saw far too much that pleased her.

The room suddenly felt very warm. Apparently, Jack felt it too, for he removed his vest and shirt and set them aside, leaving himself in nothing but his breeches and boots. The act of disrobing made a fine show of Jack's strong arms, rippled with muscle from his life at sea, and they were quite undeniably magnificent. Jack also had truly beautiful thick black hair, and Emily wondered how it would feel in her hands, unbound, heavy soft, and rich.

Jack turned and looked at her, catching her watchful eye on his body, and scanned down to her bosom and back up again.

"Ah!" he said, placing a hand on her thigh. "I know what is to come with that look, darling, and women like you should avoid such things, if you can. You can fight me as you must, and perhaps draw my blood, and wound me so. Tomorrow, you'll declare that you wanted none of it, when perhaps, it's quite the contrary. As I've said, we're all entitled to our secrets."

A chill rippled through Emily's loins. So there he was; he was going to take her, and there was no escape from it, even if she wished there to be. All of her bravado drained away.

"Must we?" she said, playing her part.

"I knew you'd come around, love. I accept your invitation. First, I beg your leave, so I can kiss you, of course," was his reply. "Formalities, you know."

---

For a day or two, she had daydreamed of their night together beneath the Blessed Virgin's watchful eyes.

In her fantasy they were kissing, Jack's mouth soft and yielding under hers. The sensation was not different from any other man, but she could not tear herself away from the vision.

Then their lips parted and he went even softer, feeling the submission response begin, and Jack's grip on her tightened wonderfully, but his mouth was still so soft. Her tongue probed forward to find his, struck warm wet velvet, and caressed it.

Food, safety, freedom, sex, and if there were anything left inside of her, it was best described with one word: hungry.

Hungry for more.

With one large hand he took her by the chin in a hard grip, letting his lips part just a little, watching her face under his. His dark lids lowered halfway, and when his mouth struck it was powerful, deep and sensuous. Though, his hungry attack didn't last long; he drew back almost as quickly.

His abandon was infectious, but her fingers continued to feast along his body. First, they found the plane of his back and slid across it, trembling over scars and dark tattoos from a world beyond her reach until his mouth found her again. The urge simply to touch Jack and be touched by him, redefined itself to a much more precise craving for fornication, penetration, full-fledged sex. His kiss, his weight, both seemed to pass into her, and she wanted _more_ of him to pass into her, but he wouldn't allow it.

Noticing this, he chuckled, and said, "Ah! You seem so eager. Your mind knows better than your body in regards to what is good. You should listen to it. Come now, darling…"

It was madness – blessed exquisite madness, for which there was only _one_ cure that she knew of. At that moment, Jack's hand came up and cupped over the round of her shoulder. He cocked his head, watching his fingers trace down her slender arm, and then he took up her hand and brought it to his lips, gently but fervently kissing her palm and then her fingers. Perhaps, he knew of another cure for her eager folly.

Emily wore a casual gown, with full sleeves and a low neckline that was tied by a cord in the front. Jack pulled it, stretching open the gathered fabric, watching as Emily's breasts were unbound and exposed. He cupped both breasts at once, in each hand, and began caressing the pink mounds of her nipples in circles with his rough palms. She arched her back to meet his touch, and Jack chuckled to himself again.

"That's quite charming, but it just tells me that you've not listened to a word I've said."

Emily could not manage to admit defeat yet, so she simply shook her head 'no,' burying her hands within his hair. Jack laughed, and bent his head to suckle her breasts, and she could not figure out which was sweeter, to finally touch his long, thick mane, or to feel his mouth tugging softly on her nipple.

Jack casually opened a small vile of oil, pouring the contents upon her breasts and stomach, paying particular attention to her stomach, which he covered in circular motions. Though, her mind was still wandering, thinking of the shockingly wasteful amount of oil he used to stroke her. After a few moments, she had given into her own liquidity, and to the thrumming motion of his middle finger, which traveled and down as if there were a string it was plucking – a string that must have been there the whole time.

Another musician, she supposed.

Now, she understood why he looked so damn familiar.

Though, her mind was quickly averted from her thoughts as he began to experiment further by tracing his fingers along her calves. He watched her face for her reactions – less here, and more there. She was a very firm woman, and her skin seemed to stretch tightly over her leg muscles. Apparently, she had injured her knees a bit, for there were scrapes that appeared to be fairly fresh. Jack found that the back of her knees were sensitive as well, and he lingered there, making small circles in the tender flesh. Emily's eyes closed as he continued to touch her, tracing over her thighs until he caressed the upper part of her inner thigh, then she moaned and arched her back.

To Jack's surprise, Emily's reaction actually excited him, but he told himself that he was just exploring, learning, and tried to push the feelings away. He focused not on himself, but on Emily's responses, and he found that more than anything, he was enjoying the power he had to please her. It was far more intoxicating that rum and opium.

They stayed there for some time, so long that Emily lost herself, unable to sense the passing of time. The clever man proceeded to tease her until her thighs quivered in delight.

Suddenly, Jack's hands gripped her hips fiercely – he could no longer deny himself the pleasure, and Emily obliged by pressing her hips against his erection. He pierced her, driving himself into her with such force that Emily's mind lost all reason, and she began to wilt. Once he had buried himself inside of her, a rush of arousal spread all over her body, and she watched him as he continued to thrust within her, traveling even deeper inside with each stroke.

Jack groaned deeply with each thrust, realizing that he neared the end of his rope, but he continued to move with greater speed until he gasped and filled her.

He collapsed upon her, feeling her chest pressing against his as she her mind fled from her during climax, and Emily wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him down to lay alongside her body. Jack panted softly as he held her, rubbing her body and breasts together with oily palms.

In a sense, she felt like an ordinary woman in the throes of desire, because of the fact that the man whose body lay over hers was warm and soft, too rich in color, too sweet in fragrance, and too kind to be the typical rapist.

She succumbed to a peaceful slumber soon after, and it was no surprise to her that she found herself alone in the morning.

However, what came as a true surprise was the crumpled note she discovered in her palm.

---

_I'll appoint you with another appointment, if you will. I believe that you owe me wages for my company, and I have all intentions of retrieving said wages upon my return, unless you have another way of compensating for it. _

_I have taken the contents of your coin purse until then. If it were me, I'd hide my future one in a more obscure location. _

_J_

---

Title taken from the song, "_Love Me Two Times_" by The Doors. Credit goes to them and Jim Morrison (December 8, 1943—July 3, 1971)


End file.
